


Because of the Girl

by For_That_Cotton_Candy



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/For_That_Cotton_Candy/pseuds/For_That_Cotton_Candy
Summary: A girl gone now, eaten from the inside out, and no way now to get her back.
 A moment of comfort after losing Fred.





	

“Because of the Girl”  
Angel Season 5  
Related Episode: A Hole In the World  
Spoilers  
Spike/Angel  


 

***

Spike sighed tiredly, noting absently from the clock on the wall that it was almost 4:30 in the morning. He groaned softly and stretched hard, trying to pull the knots out of muscle bound up by sitting all day and fighting all night, exhausted from a day in which he’d awkwardly tried to comfort people that he barely knew over the death of a lovely, young girl he’d come to know fairly well in the brief period they’d shared the same space and same time. A girl who had told him he’d been worth saving and had tried day and night to do so. A girl who had teased him with a soft smile when he tried to flirt and had shared her French fries whenever she ordered out and had told him more about Texas and American college football than he’d ever really wanted to know. But he’d listened, nodding, and sneaking sips of her milkshake. Because it was her, because of the girl.

A girl gone now, eaten from the inside out, and no way now to get her back.

It had been a hastily thrown together memorial service with just the core group, Wesley drunk and absent and babysitting Illyria and Gunn sitting head in hand and trying to be invisible, released from medical briefly for just that day, Harmony unusually quiet and respectful and Lorne doing his damnedest to hold himself together and lead the thing.

And Angel. There, but not, standing stock still in the corner, finding the shadows and staying there, not saying a word. Hadn’t said a word all day, Spike thought.

Spike had tried, as hard as it had been, to think of something to say, wondering whether a touch on the shoulder or knee was right, appropriate, and after flailing about in uncharted waters for the better part of the day he’d given up. He didn’t know how to do this. And he wasn’t sure any of them wanted him to, anyway.

So, in the end, he’d left. He’d hunted demons and vampires and killed all of them, fifteen, maybe, he thought, then had found a bar and downed a bottle of whiskey before finally giving up. None of this was helping. He was tired and hurt and half-drunk and lonely and she was still dead and nothing was going to change that. So he’d headed back to Wolfram & Hart, hoping to stretch out on the sofa in Angel’s office until the next big crisis arrived.

He moved slowly through the darkened lobby, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it with one hand, the sound of it dragging across the carpet seeming ridiculously loud, and then pulled up short when he reached the door of Angel’s office.

He stood, unmoving but listening and catching the scents in the air. He sensed Angel and grief and rage and good scotch, guilt and hurt and loneliness and the seawater taste of tears.

He sighed and pushed back the door slowly to see Angel seated on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. Spike walked over to stand in front of him. Angel didn’t move, didn’t speak, and after a long while, not knowing what else to do, Spike reached out one hand and touched his hair He remembered that Angel had always liked that, having his hair stroked, and so that was what he did, stood there silently and ran his fingers gently through Angel’s hair, over and over again.

Spike stood there, thinking about how nice this felt, soothing, almost hypnotic, and he watched as hand moved through Angel’s hair and his own body relaxed as he remembered very rare moments of touches like this, of tenderness and affection.

After a long while Angel sighed and shuddered, catching Spike’s hand with his own and bringing it to his cheek, leaning into it heavily. He bent his head further down, exposing the back of his neck, and Spike knew what this meant, as well. With his other hand he began kneading the back of Angel’s neck firmly, and Angel groaned softly and pressed his lips against Spike’s palm before letting go and grabbing the waistband of Spike’s jeans and pulling him close, resting his head against Spike’s belly.

Anchored by Angel’s grip on his waist, with both hands Spike worked Angel’s neck and shoulders, his own body aching now with this unaccustomed touching, and his head fell back and his eyes closed and his blood surged, fingers gripping and kneading and digging into cool flesh, his own moan a soft echo of Angel’s. 

Angel began nuzzling against his belly, slowly inching up his t-shirt until his skin was exposed, and at the touch of Angel’s tongue against his skin Spike gasped, one hand moving to grasp the back of Angel’s neck while the other slid down underneath his shirt, still kneading muscle and flesh as Angel’s mouth moved wetly across his skin, and when Angel’s tongue dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans Spike fell to his knees, grasping Angel’s face between his hands.

They stared at one another, Spike brushing his thumbs gently across Angel’s eyes, feeling the trace of tears, and across his mouth, inhaling deeply at the softness of his lips and the flick of his tongue against him.

Spike took his hands away, watching as Angel watched him, Angel’s eyes black in the dark of the office and half-closed, feeling the fierceness of Angel’s need and he shuddered to think, to feel, that after all this time and everything that had happened, Angel still wanted him so badly.

“Always,” Angel whispered so softly that Spike wasn’t sure whether Angel actually spoke the word or simply thought it, but he leaned in, hungry and hard, and his lips ghosted gently across Angel’s mouth, across his jaw, tongue sliding wetly down the length of his neck, feeling a fierce satisfaction at the way Angel reacted, groaning and burying his face in Spike’s neck. “Always,” Angel whispered against his skin, “Always thought you were beautiful . . .”

“God,” Spike whispered, so hard now that it actually hurt, and as Angel reached down to stroke him through his jeans his entire body vibrated and his hips jerked against Angel’s hand, and he sucked wetly at Angel’s neck before finding the spot he was looking for. 

They both stilled, and then Spike tasted that spot on Angel’s neck with his tongue and was besieged by a dizzying swirl of memory, and he groaned and started sucking hard until he felt Angel’s hand on the back of his head.

“Yes,” Angel whispered. “God, yes, do it, please . . .”

Spike snarled and changed and bit, pushing Angel against the back of the sofa, kneeling between his knees and feeling Angel’s cock hard his belly, and the storm of memory and lust intensified as he fed from the spot where he’d very first marked Angel, the spot he’d always returned to, and Angel stiffened, arching up off the sofa, gasping. “ _Fuck_!” he hissed, and then suddenly they were both frantic, Spike pulling Angel down on to the floor and rolling on top of him, and everything was skin against skin and blood and fury and lust and need and come as they struggled against one another and for each other, lost in a writhing, fervent battle of bodies until the sun came up.

***

Spike woke to the sounds of the first few employees making their way into work, and looked down at Angel where he lay heavily against Spike’s chest. He inhaled deeply, again running his hand through Angel’s hair, and felt something inexplicably warm deep inside when Angel sighed and tightened his hold on him.

“Wake up, boss,” he whispered.

“I am,” Angel murmured.

“Oughtn’t we put some clothes on?”

“Probably.” Angel said wearily and turned to look up at Spike speculatively, chin resting on Spike’s chest.

Spike frowned. “What? Is my hair mussed?”

“Yes,” Angel said, smiling slightly before his expression became serious again. “Listen, Spike, I . . .”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, pet. It’ll never happen again.”

“No! No, that’s not what I’m . . . what I’m trying to say is . . .” he sighed and buried his face in Spike’s chest. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Spike again started running his hand through Angel’s hair. “You’re welcome,” he said softly. “And thank you.”

Angel looked up at him. “You understand, don’t you. How hard this is.”

“More than you know,” Spike whispered, and they lay for a while in silence, each one thinking of the other, and of the girl.

***

End


End file.
